The Old Curiosity Shop

by Dickens, Charles

quiet, and not put yourself into another fever, I could tell you--

  but I won't now.'

  'Yes, do,' said Dick. 'It will amuse me.'

  'Oh! would it though!' rejoined the small servant, with a horrified

  look. 'I know better than that. Wait till you're better and then

  I'll tell you.'

  Dick looked very earnestly at his little friend: and his eyes,

  being large and hollow from illness, assisted the expression so

  much, that she was quite frightened, and besought him not to think

  any more about it. What had already fallen from her, however, had

  not only piqued his curiosity, but seriously alarmed him, wherefore

  he urged her to tell him the worst at once.

  'Oh there's no worst in it,' said the small servant. 'It hasn't

  anything to do with you.'

  'Has it anything to do with--is it anything you heard through

  chinks or keyholes--and that you were not intended to hear?' asked

  Dick, in a breathless state.

  'Yes,' replied the small servant.

  'In--in Bevis Marks?' pursued Dick hastily. 'Conversations

  between Brass and Sally?'

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  'Yes,' cried the small servant again.

  Richard Swiveller thrust his lank arm out of bed, and, gripping her

  by the wrist and drawing her close to him, bade her out with it,

  and freely too, or he would not answer for the consequences; being

  wholly unable to endure the state of excitement and expectation.

  She, seeing that he was greatly agitated, and that the effects of

  postponing her revelation might be much more injurious than any

  that were likely to ensue from its being made at once, promised

  compliance, on condition that the patient kept himself perfectly

  quiet, and abstained from starting up or tossing about.

  'But if you begin to do that,' said the small servant, 'I'll leave

  off. And so I tell you.'

  'You can't leave off, till you have gone on,' said Dick. 'And do

  go on, there's a darling. Speak, sister, speak. Pretty Polly say.

  Oh tell me when, and tell me where, pray Marchioness, I beseech

  you!'

  Unable to resist these fervent adjurations, which Richard Swiveller

  poured out as passionately as if they had been of the most solemn

  and tremendous nature, his companion spoke thus:

  'Well! Before I run away, I used to sleep in the kitchen--where

  we played cards, you know. Miss Sally used to keep the key of the

  kitchen door in her pocket, and she always come down at night to

  take away the candle and rake out the fire. When she had done

  that, she left me to go to bed in the dark, locked the door on the

  outside, put the key in her pocket again, and kept me locked up

  till she come down in the morning--very early I can tell you--and

  let me out. I was terrible afraid of being kept like this, because

  if there was a fire, I thought they might forget me and only take

  care of themselves you know. So, whenever I see an old rusty key

  anywhere, I picked it up and tried if it would fit the door, and at

  last I found in the dust cellar a key that did fit it.'

  Here, Mr Swiveller made a violent demonstration with his legs. But

  the small servant immediately pausing in her talk, he subsided

  again, and pleading a momentary forgetfulness of their compact,

  entreated her to proceed.

  'They kept me very short,' said the small servant. 'Oh! you can't

  think how short they kept me! So I used to come out at night after

  they'd gone to bed, and feel about in the dark for bits of biscuit,

  or sangwitches that you'd left in the office, or even pieces of

  orange peel to put into cold water and make believe it was wine.

  Did you ever taste orange peel and water?'

  Mr Swiveller replied that he had never tasted that ardent liquor;

  and once more urged his friend to resume the thread of her

  narrative.

  'If you make believe very much, it's quite nice,' said the small

  servant, 'but if you don't, you know, it seems as if it would bear

  a little more seasoning, certainly. Well, sometimes I used to come

  out after they'd gone to bed, and sometimes before, you know; and

  one or two nights before there was all that precious noise in the

  office--when the young man was took, I mean--I come upstairs

  while Mr Brass and Miss Sally was a-sittin' at the office fire; and

  I tell you the truth, that I come to listen again, about the key of

  the safe.'

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  Mr Swiveller gathered up his knees so as to make a great cone of

  the bedclothes, and conveyed into his countenance an expression of

  the utmost concern. But the small servant pausing, and holding up

  her finger, the cone gently disappeared, though the look of concern

  did not.

  'There was him and her,' said the small servant, 'a-sittin' by the

  fire, and talking softly together. Mr Brass says to Miss Sally,

  "Upon my word," he says "it's a dangerous thing, and it might get

  us into a world of trouble, and I don't half like it." She says--

  you know her way--she says, "You're the chickenest-hearted,

  feeblest, faintest man I ever see, and I think," she says, "that I

  ought to have been the brother, and you the sister. Isn't Quilp,"

  she says, "our principal support?" "He certainly is," says Mr

  Brass, "And an't we," she says, "constantly ruining somebody or

  other in the way of business?" "We certainly are," says Mr Brass.

  "Then does it signify," she says, "about ruining this Kit when

  Quilp desires it?" "It certainly does not signify," says Mr Brass.

  Then they whispered and laughed for a long time about there being

  no danger if it was well done, and then Mr Brass pulls out his

  pocket-book, and says, "Well," he says, 'here it is--Quilp's own

  five-pound note. We'll agree that way, then," he says. "Kit's

  coming to-morrow morning, I know. While he's up-stairs, you'll get

  out of the way, and I'll clear off Mr Richard. Having Kit alone,

  I'll hold him in conversation, and put this property in his hat.

  I'll manage so, besides," he says, 'that Mr Richard shall find it

  there, and be the evidence. And if that don't get Christopher out

  of Mr Quilp's way, and satisfy Mr Quilp's grudges," he says, "the

  Devil's in it." Miss Sally laughed, and said that was the plan, and

  as they seemed to be moving away, and I was afraid to stop any

  longer, I went down-stairs again.--There!'

  The small servant had gradually worked herself into as much

  agitation as Mr Swiveller, and therefore made no effort to restrain

  him when he sat up in bed and hastily demanded whether this story

  had been told to anybody.

  'How could it be?' replied his nurse. 'I was almost afraid to

  think about it, and hoped the young man would be let off. When I

  heard 'em say they had found him guilty of what he didn't do, you

  was gone, and so was the lodger--though I think I should have been

  frightened to tell him, even if he'd been there. Ever since I come

  here, you've been out of your senses, and what would have been the

  good of telling you then?'
/>
  'Marchioness,' said Mr Swiveller, plucking off his nightcap and

  flinging it to the other end of the room; 'if you'll do me the

  favour to retire for a few minutes and see what sort of a night it

  is, I'll get up.'

  'You mustn't think of such a thing,' cried his nurse.

  'I must indeed,' said the patient, looking round the room.

  'Whereabouts are my clothes?'

  'Oh, I'm so glad--you haven't got any,' replied the Marchioness.

  'Ma'am!' said Mr Swiveller, in great astonishment.

  'I've been obliged to sell them, every one, to get the things that

  was ordered for you. But don't take on about that,' urged the

  Marchioness, as Dick fell back upon his pillow. 'You're too weak

  to stand, indeed.'

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  'I am afraid,' said Richard dolefully, 'that you're right. What

  ought I to do! what is to be done!'

  It naturally occurred to him on very little reflection, that the

  first step to take would be to communicate with one of the Mr

  Garlands instantly. It was very possible that Mr Abel had not yet

  left the office. In as little time as it takes to tell it, the

  small servant had the address in pencil on a piece of paper; a

  verbal description of father and son, which would enable her to

  recognise either, without difficulty; and a special caution to be

  shy of Mr Chuckster, in consequence of that gentleman's known

  antipathy to Kit. Armed with these slender powers, she hurried

  away, commissioned to bring either old Mr Garland or Mr Abel,

  bodily, to that apartment.

  'I suppose,' said Dick, as she closed the door slowly, and peeped

  into the room again, to make sure that he was comfortable, 'I

  suppose there's nothing left--not so much as a waistcoat even?'

  'No, nothing.'

  'It's embarrassing,' said Mr Swiveller, 'in case of fire--even an

  umbrella would be something--but you did quite right, dear

  Marchioness. I should have died without you!'

  CHAPTER 65

  It was well for the small servant that she was of a sharp, quick

  nature, or the consequence of sending her out alone, from the very

  neighbourhood in which it was most dangerous for her to appear,

  would probably have been the restoration of Miss Sally Brass to the

  supreme authority over her person. Not unmindful of the risk she

  ran, however, the Marchioness no sooner left the house than she

  dived into the first dark by-way that presented itself, and,

  without any present reference to the point to which her journey

  tended, made it her first business to put two good miles of brick

  and mortar between herself and Bevis Marks.

  When she had accomplished this object, she began to shape her

  course for the notary's office, to which--shrewdly inquiring of

  apple-women and oyster-sellers at street-corners, rather than

  in lighted shops or of well-dressed people, at the hazard of

  attracting notice--she easily procured a direction. As carrierpigeons,

  on being first let loose in a strange place, beat the air

  at random for a short time before darting off towards the spot for

  which they are designed, so did the Marchioness flutter round and

  round until she believed herself in safety, and then bear swiftly

  down upon the port for which she was bound.

  She had no bonnet--nothing on her head but a great cap which, in

  some old time, had been worn by Sally Brass, whose taste in

  head-dresses was, as we have seen, peculiar--and her speed was

  rather retarded than assisted by her shoes, which, being extremely

  large and slipshod, flew off every now and then, and were difficult

  to find again, among the crowd of passengers. Indeed, the poor

  little creature experienced so much trouble and delay from having

  to grope for these articles of dress in mud and kennel, and

  suffered in these researches so much jostling, pushing, squeezing

  and bandying from hand to hand, that by the time she reached the

  street in which the notary lived, she was fairly worn out and

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  exhausted, and could not refrain from tears.

  But to have got there at last was a great comfort, especially as

  there were lights still burning in the office window, and therefore

  some hope that she was not too late. So the Marchioness dried her

  eyes with the backs of her hands, and, stealing softly up the

  steps, peeped in through the glass door.

  Mr Chuckster was standing behind the lid of his desk, making such

  preparations towards finishing off for the night, as pulling down

  his wristbands and pulling up his shirt-collar, settling his neck

  more gracefully in his stock, and secretly arranging his whiskers

  by the aid of a little triangular bit of looking glass. Before the

  ashes of the fire stood two gentlemen, one of whom she rightly

  judged to be the notary, and the other (who was buttoning his

  great-coat and was evidently about to depart immediately) Mr Abel

  Garland.

  Having made these observations, the small spy took counsel with

  herself, and resolved to wait in the street until Mr Abel came out,

  as there would be then no fear of having to speak before Mr

  Chuckster, and less difficulty in delivering her message. With

  this purpose she slipped out again, and crossing the road, sat down

  upon a door-step just opposite.

  She had hardly taken this position, when there came dancing up the

  street, with his legs all wrong, and his head everywhere by turns,

  a pony. This pony had a little phaeton behind him, and a man in

  it; but neither man nor phaeton seemed to embarrass him in the

  least, as he reared up on his hind legs, or stopped, or went on, or

  stood still again, or backed, or went side-ways, without the

  smallest reference to them--just as the fancy seized him, and as

  if he were the freest animal in creation. When they came to the

  notary's door, the man called out in a very respectful manner, 'Woa

  then'--intimating that if he might venture to express a wish, it

  would be that they stopped there. The pony made a moment's pause;

  but, as if it occurred to him that to stop when he was required

  might be to establish an inconvenient and dangerous precedent, he

  immediately started off again, rattled at a fast trot to the street

  corner, wheeled round, came back, and then stopped of his own

  accord.

  'Oh! you're a precious creatur!' said the man--who didn't venture

  by the bye to come out in his true colours until he was safe on the

  pavement. 'I wish I had the rewarding of you--I do.'

  'What has he been doing?' said Mr Abel, tying a shawl round his

  neck as he came down the steps.

  'He's enough to fret a man's heart out,' replied the hostler. 'He

  is the most wicious rascal--Woa then, will you?'

  'He'll never stand still, if you call him names,' said Mr Abel,

  getting in, and taking the reins. 'He's a very good fellow if you

  know how to manage him. This is the first time he has been out,

  this long while, for he has lost his old driver and wouldn't stir


  for anybody else, till this morning. The lamps are right, are

  they? That's well. Be here to take him to-morrow, if you please.

  Good night!'

  And, after one or two strange plunges, quite of his own invention,

  the pony yielded to Mr Abel's mildness, and trotted gently off.

  All this time Mr Chuckster had been standing at the door, and the

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  small servant had been afraid to approach. She had nothing for it

  now, therefore, but to run after the chaise, and to call to Mr Abel

  to stop. Being out of breath when she came up with it, she was

  unable to make him hear. The case was desperate; for the pony was

  quickening his pace. The Marchioness hung on behind for a few

  moments, and, feeling that she could go no farther, and must soon

  yield, clambered by a vigorous effort into the hinder seat, and in

  so doing lost one of the shoes for ever.

  Mr Abel being in a thoughtful frame of mind, and having quite

  enough to do to keep the pony going, went jogging on without

  looking round: little dreaming of the strange figure that was close

  behind him, until the Marchioness, having in some degree recovered

  her breath, and the loss of her shoe, and the novelty of her

  position, uttered close into his ear, the words--'I say, Sir'--

  He turned his head quickly enough then, and stopping the pony,

  cried, with some trepidation, 'God bless me, what is this!'

  'Don't be frightened, Sir,' replied the still panting messenger.

  'Oh I've run such a way after you!'

  'What do you want with me?' said Mr Abel. 'How did you come here?'

  'I got in behind,' replied the Marchioness. 'Oh please drive on,

  sir--don't stop--and go towards the City, will you? And oh do

  please make haste, because it's of consequence. There's somebody

  wants to see you there. He sent me to say would you come directly,

  and that he knowed all about Kit, and could save him yet, and prove

  his innocence.'

  'What do you tell me, child?'

  'The truth, upon my word and honour I do. But please to drive on--

  quick, please! I've been such a time gone, he'll think I'm

  lost.'

  Mr Abel involuntarily urged the pony forward. The pony, impelled

  by some secret sympathy or some new caprice, burst into a great

  pace, and neither slackened it, nor indulged in any eccentric

  performances, until they arrived at the door of Mr Swiveller's